


I don't want to wait for you tonight.

by Lestradesexwife



Series: I could be the best time of your life. [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Spanking, Sub!John, dom!Greg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of "I could be the best time of your life."<br/>Picking up from the end of that work directly. However, this is a wip. The plot bunnies have me hostage, I will be updating this frequently. I'm leaving off a lot of tags, because I am not sure entirely what is going to happen. And I know that there will be all manner of fun things happening in later chapters.</p><p>Title is stolen from the same Charles Perry song. It is on youtube, watch it. I don't know how to link things in this (I'm internet dumb).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock woke first, his brain snapping him awake suddenly. Normally when he woke he would be up and out of bed in the instant that his awareness returned. This morning he could not have moved if he wanted to. He was fairly certain both of his arms were asleep, somehow Lestrade and John had both ended up with their heads resting on his shoulders, that must have happened in the night. Their arms were wrapped around his torso and their feet were tangled with his. 

He was increasingly unsure that he wanted to move ever again. He closed his eyes, opened a door in his mind palace and systematically copied all of his sensory input into permanent storage. He wondered briefly if John would let him attempt to weigh his head while he was sleeping. Logically Sherlock knew that it wasn’t any heavier than when he was awake, but the deep boneless relaxation of sleep made it feel an extra pound heavier. Lestrade needed a pedicure, the soles of his feet were rough where they rested against Sherlock’s calf muscle. The image of Lestrade sitting in one of the large black massage chairs, water bubbling away in the little tub with a scrub and cucumbers over his eyes floated unbidden into Sherlock’s mind. He huffed in exasperation. Where had that come from? 

John grumbled and shifted against him, Sherlock stilled and waited to see if John would wake. He could feel the slight stab of stubble through his t-shirt. John stilled and Sherlock turned his head slightly to look down at Lestrade. He watched as Lestrade’s eyes moved rapidly under his lids, and he wondered what Lestrade dreamed of. He filed away that thought, as well as the ridiculous image. These were inconsequential, Lestrade would likely not remember the dream when he woke and his own silly fancy was just that, it should also not matter whether or not he woke John. But somehow it did, it was all very important, everything that happened within this bed. Sherlock would hold onto it, guard it against the time he knew was coming. John would remember that he had been nearly destroyed by Sherlock, and Lestrade would side with John. 

Sherlock pinched his eyes tightly shut, trying to reset his emotional responses, it was surprisingly difficult to revert to his usual detachment. Last night he had been terrified that Lestrade would leave, or that he would anger John and he would leave. This morning he was relieved, still nervous, they had passed over the greatest of the obstacles last night. Lestrade would require some further reinforcement, he would begin to doubt his importance again if Sherlock wasn’t careful. John was a different problem, John was aware of his importance to Sherlock. Sherlock was only concerned that the next time Sherlock did something a bit not good John would explode. Surely this much repressed anger could not be good for a person. Sherlock exhaled sharply through his nose. This was why he avoided attachments, they required constant maintenance. And perhaps it wasn’t just because they had him pinned like a butterfly under glass that for the first time he was willing to perform that maintenance.

The portion of his brain that had been cataloguing physical sensations finished recording. And brought several pertinent items to his conscious attention.  
1\. His arms were indeed asleep.  
2\. He was uncomfortably warm and parched.  
3\. He had an erection.  
4\. John and Lestrade both also had erections.  
He reviewed the list mentally, when he reached the third item he almost dismissed it as irrelevant. But in light of the fourth.

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” He gasped.


	2. Honeymoon Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter entirely in google docs. And it would not stop. I hope it is okay.
> 
> I have a head canon that Sherlock calls Lestrade Lestrade. He is Greg to himself and John. Although that may change. I found myself slipping a lot in this chapter and having to go back and correct it. I don't know if it is distracting or interesting.

John wakes up all at once, years in the military and sleeping in the A&E on long shifts have made him both a light sleeper and fully aware once he has woken. Sherlock’s gasped exclamation rumbling through his chest and directly into John’s ear bringing a sense of relief. Yesterday had not been some extended hallucination, John remembered the time after Sherlock had died, the feeling that every time he turned a corner or entered a room Sherlock would be there waiting. It hadn’t ever really gone away, and now he was experiencing it in reverse. Afraid to close his eyes or let Sherlock out of his sight lest he vanish like Eurydice. He shifts his head, turning to look up at Sherlock from the crook of his arm. “Alright?”

“I. Yes, I’m fine, just... I can’t feel my arms at all, and my mouth feels like I’ve been drinking the Sahara through a straw.” Sherlock’s voice was raspy.

John smiled and shifted his weight onto his own shoulder, relieving the pressure on Sherlock’s shoulder. He reached over Sherlock and grasped Greg’s shoulder, shaking him roughly. “Oi! Up and at ‘em you lump.” John’s fond tone belied the rough treatment.

“John! What?” Sherlock was shocked by the way John was shaking Greg.

“He sleeps like a log, it is shock tactics or I can get my kit and amputate your arm.” 

Sherlock was trying desperately to ignore the fact that John’s efforts to wake Lestrade had shifted John’s erection so that it pressed against the fleshy part of Sherlock’s hip, _“We can sleep, or not.”_ echoed in Sherlock’s mind. 

Greg _growled_ and rolled off Sherlock’s arm, more of an effort to escape John’s shaking than because he was aware that Sherlock’s arm was in danger of being amputated. “Wha time s’t?”

John twisted around and looked at the clock on his side of the bed. “Half eight, wake up and pass Sherlock your water. He’s dehydrated.” John lifted Sherlock’s arm from his pillow and dropped it back down onto Sherlock’s chest, before fluffing his pillow and propping himself up against the headboard. “His clock is fifteen to twenty minutes fast, so that he will actually get up on time for work. Because he just keeps hitting snooze until I kick him out of bed.”

Sherlock extracted his other arm from under the blankets, wincing as the pins and needles started. He cleared his throat as he pulled himself up to sit next to John. “Lestrade, may I please have some of your water?”

Greg had been scrubbing his hands over his face, but now he lifted his hands and peered at Sherlock suspiciously. “I think Canada was good for you, I could get used to this polite thing.” He pulled himself up and leaned over to retrieve the glass from his nightstand. He took a long sip from the glass before he handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock took the glass in both hands, not trusting the swollen feeling in his hands. His eyes closed as the room temperature water slid down his throat. John was right, he was dehydrated. The portion of his mind that calculated his caloric intake added another glass of water to its schedule. He opened his eyes as he lowered the glass to find both of the other men watching him closely. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands.

John reached over and took the glass from him. Sherlock swiveled his eyes to watch as John raised it to his lips. Waiting until he swallowed to ask. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

John finished the water, to which Greg made a dismayed noise, before craning his arm round to set the glass on his nightstand. “About amputating your arm? Yes I suppose I could, if it came to it, between my kit and whatever there is in the kitchen. I’m sure he’d sleep through that as well though.”

Greg narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment.

Sherlock frowned, wondering why John took such joy in being difficult. “No. Before that, about not sleeping.” He closed in on himself, bracing for the possibility of rejection.

John and Greg made eye contact over Sherlock’s head. John’s eyebrow raised minutely in question. Greg quirked his lips and inclined his head slightly. They had talked about this, well not _this_ , nothing had prepared them for Sherlock, and John was better at handling Sherlock anyway.

John’s voice was dark and low, but careful. “Yes, we did.”

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. “I... this really isn’t my area.” He swept his hands out in a gesture to encompass the bed. “My previous experiences have been more straightforward.”

Greg huffed, not exactly a laugh but definitely an expression of amusement. “Was that a pun or...?”

Sherlock bristled and John reached out to smooth his hand over his shoulder. “Hey none of that, Greg is just curious. But you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want.”

Sherlock felt himself relaxing into John’s hand. He hadn’t realized what he had said would be considered amusing given the overwhelming maleness in the room. “Ah yes, both... sort of.” He felt his face heating. “My... ah well there were two, but only one at a time. And both were... not men.”

John huffed and sat back against the headboard. “Really? I thought women weren’t your area.”

“I said girlfriends weren’t my area,” Sherlock bristled “and boyfriends for that matter. If you’d been listening, Mister ‘Not Actually Gay’” Sherlock was reduced to making air quotes. “And most women aren’t.... just...” He struggled to think of a way to define his feelings for them. “They matter, they are _interesting_. It is the same with you, it doesn’t matter that you are men. You are _you_.” Sherlock tried to pull in on himself, creating a space between himself and the other two men. 

John reddened “Ah yes, well ‘Not Actually Bi-sexual’ doesn’t exactly have the same force of argument when one is trying to protect the reputation of the world’s only consulting detective. And I gave it up after that Adler woman fiasco. Although it would have been nice to have been having the sex everyone assumed I was at the time.”

Sherlock looked away from John, suddenly very interested in the bits of fluff on the covers.

John’s eyes widened “Hang on, you had sex with Irene Adler and it was _straightforward?_ ”

“John.” Greg spoke up for the first time. “It’s none of our business.” He hooked his finger under Sherlock’s chin and raised it to meet his eyes. “It really isn’t.”

Sherlock licked his lips. “She... Well I gather she was ah... gentle... or at least an order of magnitude more gentle than usual. For her.”

John was practically vibrating with curiosity but Greg ignored him. Dropping his finger from Sherlock’s chin and picking up his hand. “And you like gentle?”

Sherlock flashed back to the whipping she had given him, the drug she had given him had dulled most of the immediate pain, but he had been marked for days afterwards. Compared to the night they had spent together in Karachi he knew which he would choose to repeat. “Possibly not enough data, but I think I prefered her gentle side. I think she hurts for the sake of hurting. I don’t think... I.” He licked his lips again. “John enjoys being restrained.”

Greg didn’t blink at the apparent non-sequitur and it was his turn to speak carefully. “Yeah. He does.”

“Irene, she... I think... she said she knows what people like. I think she knew that I didn’t know and she didn’t push. Then she left, and I haven’t seen her again... But I still don’t know.”

John had gone very still behind Sherlock, barely breathing.

“If we do anything together. Whatever we do together, we don’t want you to do because you think we will enjoy it.” Greg closed his eyes. “I mean, John and I don’t want you to do something that you would only do to please us.” Greg scrubbed his hands over his face. “I feel like I am not making any sense. There are too many pronouns for this early in the morning. I need coffee.”

Sherlock sighed. “How am I supposed to know?” 

“No one knows Sherlock, not at first. And it isn’t something fixed. What works with one partner might be horrible with another.” Greg smiled. “Finding out is part of the fun. So we go a step at a time and see where we end up. Yeah?”

Sherlock’s nod was a barely perceptible tilt of his head and a flick of his eyes to Lestrade’s lips. Greg took the hint and closed the distance between them, tilting his head to one side to catch Sherlock’s lips with his own. Last night’s kiss had been quick and mostly chaste. This morning Greg was determined to show Sherlock that he was wanted, and welcome. 

Sherlock had just reached up to run his hands through Lestrade’s hair and pull him closer when they heard a familiar chirping “whhoop hoop.” from the sitting room door. “Boys, I’ve brought up some of my scones.”  
Greg and Sherlock rested their foreheads together, as John cleared his throat. “Cheers Mrs. Hudson. Give us a tic.”

“Do we have to go out?” Sherlock whispered.

“Sherlock, she brought those scones for you, three years and she’s never once baked for us. Yes we have to go out and eat breakfast with her.” John said in sotto voice. “Greg give him your spare dressing gown. She’ll be over the moon when we all come out of the same room. We should at least try for presentable.”

John climbed out of bed and pulled his dressing gown down off the hook, slipping it over his shoulders. He tied the belt tightly and composed himself before opening the bedroom door and going out to greet Mrs. Hudson.

Greg laughed and pressed a gentle kiss against Sherlock’s lips. “Rain check?”

“I look forward to it.” He pecked another kiss on Lestrade’s cheek. Before pushing him out of bed. “Hurry up though, the scones will be cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benedict said that only Sherlock and Irene know what really happened in Karachi, I think it will stay that way. However if you are interested in details (however sketchy) of Sherlock's other female companion. You are welcome to read the first two chapters of my work The midwife and the mortician.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/626551/chapters/1131535


	3. Here's a little story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths are spoken.  
> Scones are consumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual un-beta's and un-britpicked. If you see any glaring errors please leave a comment.  
> actually please leave a comment anyway. prompts, hatred, anything. I'm pretty sure everything I do is crap, please let me know if you are enjoying, hating or just indifferent.

John and Greg watched in amusement and a bit of awe as Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table, after placing a kiss on Mrs. Hudson’s cheek. He gathered three of Mrs. Hudson’s, admittedly delicious, scones; took up a butter knife and proceeded to cut, butter and spoon jam onto them before devouring them with greedy bites. 

They exchanged a look over Sherlock’s head before cutting into their own breakfast. Mrs. Hudson had made them all tea while she was waiting for them to come out of the bedroom. She hadn’t said anything but there had been a wry twist to her lips when Greg and Sherlock had followed John out of their room. She chattered at them, regaling them with stories of last night’s card game. Tales of Mrs. Turner’s married ones and the various aches and pains of the other ladies.

Mrs. Hudson’s narrative trailed off as Sherlock finished the second scone. He looked up from his plate, catching a bit of jam from the corner of his lip on his thumb and sucking it off. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson. These are delicious.”

John flushed and stared down at his tea cup. He wanted to comment again on Sherlock’s politeness but he was afraid of breaking whatever spell the other man had fallen under. Kind Sherlock would take some getting used to, but it would be an adjustment that John would be happy to make.

“Oh you are welcome dear, I thought just a little something to celebrate you being home.” Mrs. Hudson seemed to be suffering the same wonderment as John. “I’m off to the shops later, do you boys need anything?”

John cleared his throat. “We might just do take-away again, thanks though Mrs. Hudson.” He didn’t really want to draw attention to the fact that Sherlock was eating. In case it was an aberration, some sort of lingering dream. He hoped that his dreams would be more exciting than Mrs. Hudson bringing breakfast, but the sight of Sherlock licking jam off his thumb was, well that was enough.

Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock’s shoulder a quick pat and a squeeze, before heading out the door. “Let me know if I can get you anything then.”

“Ta, Mrs. H.” Greg saluted her with his own scone. He got up and put the kettle on for coffee as she left. “Ground or norm?”

John flinched, he’d forgotten all about Moriarty bringing Kitty Reily home coffee that night. His stomach twisted, the scone suddenly heavy. He’d had a gun. Sherlock had dropped the police gun in the street, but they had picked up, Jesus he couldn’t remember the name of the assassin, he should have just killed Jim in Reily’s apartment. Ended it there and faced the court case.

Sherlock paused with a scone halfway to his mouth, his ability to read John had apparently returned with a decent night’s sleep. “You never would have made it to the court case, he’d have killed all of you within hours, and me as well. But he was right, you wouldn’t hurt him in front of a witness. I can’t be sorry that the game ended the way it did. He’s gone, John. Every bit of him has been wiped from the earth. He and his are utterly destroyed and I am... not” Sherlock finished the bite he had been holding.

Greg had turned to look at Sherlock through his speech. “Do I want to know what I missed?”

Sherlock’s lips twisted as he chewed, he swallowed and finished the rest of his tea before answering. “John would prefer ground. As would I. Vancouver spoiled me for coffee, they drink it like water there, but the tea.” He pulled a face. “They do not understand tea.”

Greg turned to John, giving him a look. “What the hell is he on about?”

“Ah, we...” John made a face. “We were on the run, um... from you actually. And we went to see Kitty Reily.” John frowned, realizing that he had never told Greg this part of the story. “She, I dunno, I guess Moriarty was staying there, but as Richard Brook. And he just walked in carrying the shopping while we were standing in her sitting room.” John was breathless when he finished speaking, his shoulders shaking. 

Sherlock smirked, but Greg was staring at John wondering if he was alright or if he had lost his mind.

“Only he couldn’t find any ground coffee.” John was giggling now. “The Napoleon of crime, Britain's most dangerous man. And he can’t find a shop with ground coffee.” Sherlock’s deep laugh joined in. The corner’s of Greg’s lips turned up, but more at the sight of the other two men so obviously lost to sanity. He turned back to the counter and put some ground coffee into the press, adding boiling water from the kettle.

Greg knew better than to ask about the details of the rest of that story. He had come to the conclusion years before that with Sherlock sometimes ignorance was truly bliss. 

John had collapsed with his head on the table. Sherlock reached out for another scone, heaving a contented sigh.

“Why did you let me lie to you though?” John was speaking to the floor, all traces of levity gone from his voice, unable to raise his head and look at Sherlock.

Sherlock put the scone down on his plate carefully and steepled his fingers. “John?”

Greg was just glad that Sherlock didn’t seem to know what was going on either. He crossed to John’s side of the table and put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Hey.”

John sat up and leaned into Greg, gathering strength from the other man to make eye contact with Sherlock. “Irene’s not dead.”

Sherlock spoke carefully and kept his eyes on John. “No. She isn’t. But you didn’t tell me that.”

“She’s not in America either though.”

“She may very well be. I know that she travels quite a lot, but I haven’t spoken to her in some time, nearly four years to be precise.”

“You let me tell you Mycroft’s lie. Oh, I see. I wasn’t lying to you, poor simple John. What better lie than the one you tell to yourself?” John closed his eyes, turning his face away from Sherlock.

Sherlock was up and across the kitchen, kneeling beside John’s chair in the space of two heartbeats. “John, don’t be an idiot. The things Mycroft doesn’t know could fill volumes. In fact I am sure they do. I’m sorry, John. Please, it didn’t matter... no it did. You told me the thing that was kindest, you were right. I’m sorry, I know it was hard for you. You told me a lie to keep me safe. I should beg you to forgive me the same thing.” He reached up and took John’s face in his hands. 

John opened his eyes, Sherlock was very close and he pulled back a bit to focus on him. “Can we maybe, just in the future, not keep things from each other?”

“God, you really have been spending too much time in therapy. Yes, alright, I promise to try not to keep secrets in the future.”

John smirked “There is no try Sherlock, do or do not.”

Sherlock closed the distance between them, pulling John towards him and kissing him hard before breaking off. “Yes, fine then. No secrets.”

Greg huffed, “I think I like it better when I have no idea what is going on.” He pushed the press down and gathered up the mugs, dumping out the dregs and rinsing them before refilling them with coffee. He took his black, so he took a long sip. “Don’t tell me if I would have to arrest you if I knew, and don’t horde the evidence.”

John’s eyes had fallen shut again while Sherlock had kissed him but now they snapped open. “Sherlock, tell me one of the things that Mycroft knows is that you survived.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “John. He betrayed me, it wasn’t a scheme or a plan. He traded my life to a madman for the key to Pandora’s box. There is a hole in the CCTV at the base of St. Bart’s, but he didn’t even check.”

John looked into Sherlock’s eyes “He’s your family, Sherlock. He deserves to know.”

“You are wrong John. He is a person with whom I share DNA. You, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Irene. You are my family, my friends. The ones that I would protect. He’s.... The British Government. And I didn’t vote for him.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kryptaria (for the fridge), and reluctantabandon, as well as everyone else in antidiogenes for encouragement while I was writing this.
> 
> Also apparently the best way for me to expand my word count exponentially is porn. The boys, they like the sexy fun times. 
> 
> Ten thousand apologies for this taking so long. I have been major league blocked lately.  
> prompt, poke or leave comments.  
> As always, un-beta'd and brit-picked. I try, if you see something ugly let me know so i can fix it.

Greg propped himself against the kitchen counter and watched as John and Sherlock worked their way closer to each other. Trying to ignore the growing feeling of unease in his stomach. This was a bad idea, which wasn’t apparently going to stop him from wanting it. At worst Sherlock was a suspect, at ‘best’ he was a victim. Both types of people that the Yard frowned on its detectives fraternizing with. He would have to recuse himself from the investigation, possibly he would have to do that anyway, since he had been involved up to his eyeballs before Sherlock had fallen. And then there was the whole relationship with John, that hadn’t been entirely by the book either. They hadn’t been hiding it from the Yard, but Dimmock knew so they wouldn’t be able to pretend it wasn’t an issue. Which was actually worse anyway, the papers would disembowel them if their relationship came out after the fact. He was fairly lost in his own thoughts, only coming back to the conversation in front of him when he heard John mention Mycroft. He almost spat his coffee, succeeding at the last moment in swallowing before sputtering. “Monty Python?”

“You’d be shocked at how many times it comes up in murder cases.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at Greg. Not mentioning that John had made him watch it after the Bond movies, citing a lack of proper British culture.

John shifted in his chair so that Sherlock was between his knees. “You may have kissed me but I’m not that distracted. Molly? I’d have thought she had given you up. After Christmas.”

Sherlock shifted his gaze back to John, something in the last three years had given him an edge. John had never been as slow as someone normal, but today he was catching hints Sherlock didn’t even realize he was dropping. He looked down and away, biting his lip briefly before looking up again. “She had. I apologized, I was cruel to her for so long before... because I did not understand what it was.” He gestured feebly at his chest. “I still can’t, sometimes. But I know now, my life would be forfeit if any of you were taken from me. Moriarty didn’t know, he thought I was using her the same way he did. He gave me that at least, in the end.”

John leaned forward, pulling Sherlock into a hug and resting his head in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. He inhaled the scent and warmth of the other man. “How is it possible for me to still miss you so much when you are here? It should not be possible, I must still be in shock.”

Sherlock shifted out of his crouch, dropping his knees to the floor. His eyes closed and he rested his head against John’s shoulder. “Then so am I. I am sorry John. Being away I knew I was coming back. But everywhere I was was somewhere you weren’t.” Sherlock flinched. “I sound like someone from a bodice ripper, or crap telly.”

John never wanted to move again. He knew it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose, even if they avoided Kitty Reilly there was only so long that they could keep Sherlock in the flat. Too long without a case and Sherlock would blow the place up, even if Greg kept up a steady stream of cold cases for Sherlock to review. Sherlock shifted slightly against him and John felt all his worry for the future slide away. Sherlock was here, fitted into his arms, breathing and warm and married to the work (which isn’t a no, not anymore, maybe it wasn’t ever.)

He pulls back, sliding his hands into Sherlock’s hair, holding his face and his gaze. “We aren’t really the work.”

It was a very near thing but Sherlock did not sigh. “John, the work isn’t a thing, it is who I am. There is no line between who I am, what I do and what is necessary for me to do it.” He closed his eyes. “Not having you and Lestrade... I don’t have any way of expressing that, it is impossible. There is nothing at all...”

John pulled him close, pressing hard kisses against his lips. Sherlock pushed himself up closing the minute distances that still existed between them. Pressing himself against John as tightly as he could, trying to breathe him in.

Greg pushed forward off the counter, remaining detached slightly from the two men in front of him. Some small part of his brain expressed wonder that he wasn’t jealous. Of which one though? He had been with John longer than Sherlock had known him, but he had known Sherlock before John. He rumbled, somewhere between a groan and a growl, realizing that what he was looking at wasn’t making him jealous because it was his.

“Bed. Now.”

Separating John and Sherlock is like trying to cut through molasses, every time a part of them comes unstuck they merge somewhere else. Greg doesn’t really want them apart, he just wants them horizontal, possibly without as much clothing. The potential of these two together in his bed is overwhelming. He wants to crowd in close, press them together and drink in their pleasure. He inhales sharply, reminding himself that Sherlock might not be prepared for the things Greg wants. He knows John, knows his limits, and where to apply pressure for the best results. Sherlock barely knows himself, at least in this. Greg huffs remembering _not enough data_.

Once they are standing Sherlock is too tall for John to kiss properly and walk at the same time. Sherlock is trying to maintain contact with John’s mouth, folding himself down as John presses him back towards the bedroom. John’s hands move to Sherlock’s hips as he tries to steer the man down the hallway. They miss and end up pressed against the fridge, hard enough to make the bottles in the door rattle. Sherlock hisses as John presses up against him, John pulling at the tie of Sherlock’s dressing gown, sliding his hands between the robe and his shirt, then behind and under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Greg has been on the receiving end of that particular Watson maneuver on numerous occasions, but it is new to Sherlock and makes his hips buck forward, breaking his contact with John’s mouth.

John nips at his lip, smiling against Sherlock’s skin. “I want to take you to bed, say you will come to bed with us.”

Sherlock twitched, his head dropping back against the fridge. “John...”

Greg could practically see the gears of Sherlock’s mind grinding to a halt, and he allowed himself one moment to acknowledge that this was probably a terrible idea. They were all three emotionally compromised, possibly Sherlock most of all. They could not be trusted to make rational decisions like this. He should check, they should all be sure they knew what they were getting themselves into. He pressed in behind John, running his fingers over Sherlock’s jaw, pulling his attention back. “There is no rush, if you aren’t ready. This...” he gestured broadly including the three of them “isn’t mandatory, we are your friends. We will help you regardless.” He licked his lips. “I’m not sure I could stop, I mean, wanting you. Obviously I would stop, if you wanted. But I don’t think the wanting would go away, if it isn’t...”

Sherlock’s eyes opened fully, and he untangled one of his arms from John, pulling Greg closer. “Lestrade... Greg. This isn’t new. It wasn’t an option before, you were married, and John was... John. There wasn’t time... if there had been time. It isn’t new, and it hasn’t changed, I didn’t know. I wanted to come back to you, and just be back. I didn’t know I could have this. It was pointless to want this, but I wanted to be back. I need you. I need this.” He pushed forward off the fridge, pressing John back against Greg and stretching forward to kiss Greg.

John’s arms wrapped tighter around Sherlock’s waist and he bit back a groan as the two taller men enveloped him. He slid his hands further down and grabbed Sherlock’s arse, squeezing tight and grinding his hips hard against Sherlock. He pushed hard against Sherlock’s chest with his own, forcing him back against the fridge and ignoring the sound of protest he made as he was broken away from Greg. John took full advantage of the brief space that he cleared, slipping his hands down under the pajama bottoms and sliding them off as he dropped to his knees in front of Sherlock. Greg adjusted, pressing against Sherlock’s side and resuming the kiss, rucking up Sherlock’s t-shirt and exploring his chest.

Sherlock inhaled sharply around Greg’s kiss. John held him tight, pressing his legs apart slightly with his knees. He looked up at Sherlock and Greg, his heart catching at the sight of the two of them kissing hard. He could see the corners of Greg’s mouth turn up and he broke the kiss, his fingers having found Sherlock’s nipple under his shirt.

“John wants to suck you Sherlock. Would you like his mouth on you?” His fingers twisted Sherlock’s nipple gently punctuating the question.

Sherlock’s head knocked against the fridge again. Unable to form a coherent thought let alone respond to Lestrade’s question.

Greg smiled again, running his free hand over John’s head. “I think we can take that as a yes, John. Don’t you?”

There was a wicked glimmer in John’s eyes. “God, yes.” He rocked forward onto his knees, freeing one hand and giving Sherlock’s cock a quick stroke. He put his hand on Sherlock’s stomach, following his stroke with one of his tongue. He wanted to be slow, and draw this out, but he didn’t think he could wait. He let the gentle pressure of Greg’s hand on his head push him forward, swallowing Sherlock down to the root. His eyes slid closed, and he moaned around Sherlock. He was rewarded by the sound of Sherlock’s head hitting the door again and a buck of Sherlock’s hips. The head of Sherlock’s cock touched the back of John’s throat, forcing him to swallow. The string of French profanity was cut off by Greg kissing him again, and John moaned as Sherlock’s hand joined Greg’s on the back on his head. He pulled back, hollowing his cheeks and running his tongue along the underside until just the head was inside his mouth. He ran his tongue around and over the slit. Gently teasing until Sherlock growled and bucked his hips forward, pressing his hand into the back of John’s head.

Greg chuckled against Sherlock’s lips, tempted to pull away and just watch John. He rubbed his thumb over Sherlock’s nipple. Enjoying the sight of Sherlock, eyes closed tight murmuring in French. He looked down and watched as John slid his mouth forward, swallowing Sherlock down. Greg grunted, it was bizarre to see John do this to someone else, he knew what John felt like wrapped around his own cock, how his tongue would be moving, tracing veins along the underside. His hand tightened in John’s hair and he pressed his hips hard against Sherlock’s side. He watched as John moved forward and back, his own hips moving in time with John’s rhythm. He broke his gaze away and kissed Sherlock hard once more, Sherlock was nearly boneless, loose and gasping. Greg dropped his hand from Sherlock’s nipple, freeing his hand from Sherlock’s shirt. He grasped the other man’s chin and tilted his head down, pressing his lips against Sherlock’s ear. “Look, he’s beautiful with a mouth full of cock, open your eyes Sherlock.”

Sherlock did, just barely, able to look for only a moment before he groaned and his head tried to fall back again. Greg tightened his fingers on Sherlock’s chin. “Watch, Sherlock, see how he loves it. You can fuck him hard if you want to. John do you want Sherlock to fuck your mouth?”

John groaned, trying to press his mouth forward to swallow all of Sherlock’s cock while pressing his head back into Sherlock’s hand.

Greg grinned against Sherlock’s ear, flicking his tongue out to catch the shell of his ear and suck it between his lips. His fingers twined with Sherlock’s. “He’s good isn’t he?” Greg pressed John against Sherlock, feeling John buck slightly as Sherlock slid down his throat. “He’s hot and tight and his tongue...” Greg flicks his own tongue against Sherlock’s ear again, pulling John back slightly. Greg groaned and rolled his hips against Sherlock, pressing John back down as he rolled his own cock against Sherlock’s side.

John could feel the tension in Sherlock’s legs, his cock jumping against the roof of John’s mouth and he made a small noise in the back of his throat. He moved the hand that had been bracing him against the door of the refrigerator  and slid it up the back of Greg’s calf. Hoping that Greg would understand, not to stop, to push him harder.  
Greg felt the slow slide of John’s hand and pulled away from Sherlock’s ear. Looking down at John, he grunts again. “Fuck Sherlock, look at him. If he could talk he would be begging you to come down his throat.” Greg’s hand sets a rhythm against John’s skull, Sherlock’s arms are tense, but he has given over all control to Greg. “Come for me Sherlock, come in John’s mouth for me. Christ, you two are gorgeous like this.” Greg palms himself through his pajamas. Working John’s mouth hard against Sherlock, Sherlock is silent, his head pressed back against the door, neck stretched out and exposed. Greg can’t resist and he licks a stripe up the pale skin, latching on to a point just below Sherlock’s jaw. He can feel Sherlock’s heart pounding where their chests are pressed against each other and he groans as Sherlock’s hips buck against John’s mouth. John’s hand clenches against his calf and he lets go of John’s head letting him ride out Sherlock’s orgasm.  The noise that Sherlock makes contains all the component parts of their names, and Greg is vaguely gratified that at least in this he is no longer Lestrade, but run together and overlapping so as to be as near to gibberish as Greg has heard from the consulting detective.

Greg looks down at John, who looks supremely content, pulling long draws on Sherlock’s cock. He knows John enjoys this almost as much as Sherlock apparently did, the feeling of bringing someone pleasure. He growls and pulls John away from Sherlock. Greg looks at John and watches desire replace contentment.

Greg shifts away from the fridge, just an adjustment of balance, breaking free of the specific gravity of Sherlock Holmes. Without John and Greg holding him up he turns boneless and slides down, landing in a tangle of pajama bottoms and housecoat. John smirks before tearing his eyes from the puddle formerly known as Sherlock and turning his attention to Greg.

Greg runs his fingers along the edge of John’s jaw, feeling the mornings stubble catch under his fingernails. John’s hands travel up his legs, and his breath hitches as John cups him through the fabric. John smiles as he pulls the ties open, sliding the pajamas over Greg’s arse and cock in one quick practiced motion. His grin turns wicked as Greg’s hands curl into his hair, and he licks his lips.

Greg growls “ _ **John**_.” and John presses forward, taking the head of Greg’s cock into his mouth without teasing. Greg lets his head fall back and his eyes close, “John, _fuck, John_.” Greg pumps his hips, holding John’s head in place, with a long wordless growl. He stills his hips with effort, changing the motion to his hands on John’s head. He looks down at John, whose eyes are closed, he looks peaceful, relaxed and Greg knows he is going under. He shifts his focus to Sherlock, who is watching in a mixture of awe and desire.

“Has anyone ever sucked you off before?”

Sherlock’s eyes roam up Greg’s body. His gaze locking on Greg’s. Greg smiles, recognizing the look of someone who is lacking blood flow to the brain. Sherlock clears his throat, licking his lips before whispering “no.”  
John hears, and Greg’s hips stutter as John moans around him. Greg clenches his jaw, holding himself back from the edge. “God you should be illegal, look at you both.” Sherlock’s eyes flash, and he licks his lips, and that is enough to push Greg over. He fists his hands into John’s hair and presses in fully, John swallows convulsively and Greg comes, shuddering and swearing.

Greg releases John, reaching out blindly and grabbing the back of the nearest kitchen chair for support. John rocks back, swallowing and licking his way off Greg’s dick. Greg groans again, feeling another shock of pleasure rush through him.

“Fuck, John, you are so good.” He smooths his hand over John’s head, pulling out of his mouth gently. John looks up at him, a vague smile on his face. Greg smiles back, stroking John’s chin, running his finger over John’s bottom lip. “Watching you suck Sherlock, god you were so gorgeous.” He bent down and kissed John gently on the lips, flicking his tongue out to brush against John’s open mouth. There is an awkward moment as Greg shifts his feet, kicking the pajama bottoms out of the way.

“Are you close now John? Will you come for us? You are so good, I want to make you come as hard as we did. God John, your mouth.” Greg kept up the string of compliments, breathing them into John. He pulled the chair out from the table and pulled John up onto it. “John, John. Tell me what you want, John, tell me how to make you come for me.”

John’s head rolls back on his neck, he’s boneless and compliant. “Left pocket.” he murmurs. Greg smiles and fishes into the pocket of John’s dressing gown, finding a small tube of lube. “Oh, John, that is so good, John. Perfect.”

Sherlock shifts, pulling off his own pajamas but his eyes are intent, focused on John and Greg. “John, please can I touch you, I want to help.”

John groans and Greg reaches out a hand to Sherlock. Sherlock crosses the space on the floor, kneeling on the other side of the chair from Greg. Sherlock runs his fingers through John’s hair and over his ear. “Thank you John, that was amazing. God I want to see you come now, will you come for Greg and I?”

John shifts, lifting his hips up and groaning. “Please, please. Arms. Please.”

Sherlock looks at Greg, who smiles and kisses John gently on the cheek. “Yes John, of course.”

Greg stands beside John and slides the belt of his dressing gown out of the loops. He moves to stand behind John’s chair and smoothes his hands over John’s shoulders. “Sherlock, this is one of John’s favourite rewards. But he can be very naughty, he tries to pull his shoulders back because he likes the way it hurts him. He fooled me once and couldn’t hold a pen for three days. So we must be careful. Right John?”  
John’s eyes are open now, and focused on Sherlock. “Yes, Greg.” He squares his shoulders and folds his arms behind his back, licking his lips without taking his eyes off Sherlock. Greg wraps John’s arms in the belt quickly and ties it off in the centre where John won’t be able to reach it.

“Anything over ten minutes and it is best to use the desk chair in our room. I think we will be okay here for now.” He smoothes his hands over John’s chest, coming to rest on the waistband of John’s bottoms. “You are overdressed, up John.”

John obediently raised his hips and Greg slid the bottoms down, past his knees. John dropped back onto the chair and raised his feet so Greg could divest him of the bottoms completely.

Sherlock fidgets, suddenly unsure where he belongs in this. “I, what should I do?”

Greg gestures with the tube of lube “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Kiss him. He loves kissing like this. Tell him how much you enjoyed what he did.”

Sherlock kneels forwards, eyes trapped on John’s lips. “God John, I want to kiss you and never stop, will you let me?”

John seems to have run out of words, his eyes flicker away from Sherlock’s for an instant and drop to Sherlock’s lips. A tiny breath of a moan escapes from John’s throat.

Greg watches as Sherlock presses his lips to John’s. Thinks that nothing short of the building burning down around them could force him to stop watching this. He knows that this didn’t happen before Sherlock fell, and yet it seems the most natural and perfect thing he has seen. They fit together as well as he and John do, and already it is impossible to imagine a time when this wasn’t happening. Greg watches as Sherlock’s hand falls naturally on John’s cock, as he strokes. And of course Sherlock would know exactly how to touch John. Even if he had never done it before. Sherlock knows everything there is about both of them.

John’s hips buck up into the contact with Sherlock’s hand, and they set up a perfect pattern. Greg watches and on his next thrust John lets his legs fall open. Greg pops open the tube, and he hears a groan (can’t process if it was John or Sherlock, possibly both of them) Greg slicks two of his fingers and John’s legs fall open even further. Greg shifts, pressing a light kiss against the inside of John’s knee. Greg slides his fingers into the cleft of John’s arse, smoothing them over the opening before sliding them in in time with Sherlock’s strokes.

There is a constant sound now from the back of John’s throat. Greg matches his thrusts with the pace that Sherlock has set.

Sherlock breaks the kiss, pressing his lips against John’s ear. “John, you are perfect. I don’t want you to come, don’t come John, I want you like this always. John. God John you are making me hard again, come for me so I can fuck you again. John, look what you do to me John, that isn’t rational.” Sherlock increases the pace of his strokes, continuing to whisper illogical nonsense into John’s ear. Greg presses his forehead into John’s thigh, matching his thrusts to Sherlock’s new pace, he curls his fingers inside John, brushing against his prostate.

“Greg do that again, god, it makes John so much harder. Fuck John, come so Greg can teach me how to do that to you.”

Greg does it again, and John bucks his hips against Sherlock’s hand. The continuous moan cuts off as John comes, spilling across Sherlock’s hand and his own stomach. John inhales sharply, exhales “ _Jesus, fuck..._ ”

Greg pulls out gently as Sherlock presses a small kiss against the corner of John’s mouth. Greg stands and goes to the kitchen sink, carefully washing his hands before turning back to John. He stands behind him and puts his hands on John’s shoulders. “Alright?”

John nods. “Yes.”

Greg bends, kissing the top of John’s head, then pulls the loose ends of the bow and unwraps John’s arms.

Sherlock stands as Greg removes the tie from John, wobbling slightly as if his feet were not used to supporting him. He follows Greg’s example and washes his hands in the sink.

He pulls down a glass and fills it, draining it almost in one gulp. He fills it again and turns back, offering it to John. John reaches out and takes it, letting his fingers drag over Sherlock’s. He smiles up at the man. “Thank you.”

Sherlock smiles back. “Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so begins our heroes epic journey of sexual self discovery.  
> Have something you want Sherlock to try? leave a message after the tone and I will do my best to make him give it a whirl.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little panic.   
> Some negotiation.  
> And shopping.

John covers his smile with the glass, raising an eyebrow. They make quite a display. Three men in t-shirts and dressing gowns, and nothing else. He begins to pray that Mrs. Hudson is finished with them for the morning. He drinks the glass of water smoothly, letting the sensation of the water flowing down his throat ground him further. When the water is finished he looks down at the glass, entranced by the imprints left by his and Sherlock’s lips. Greg moves to stand behind him and John lets his head drop back against his hip.

Greg runs his fingers down John’s temple, letting his hand rest lightly on John’s shoulder. “You okay?” He wants to say something else, it has been ages since John went under, and he is pretty sure he knows why it happened this time. But he knows that John doesn’t like to over think after time in subspace.

John tilts his head back, looking up Greg’s body at him. “I’m fine. Back up or down or wherever.” John gestures with the hand holding the glass. “Even, I’m even.”

Greg folds himself down, pressing a kiss against John’s forehead. John’s eyes fall closed and he sighs. There is a snap in his awareness and suddenly he is fully aware of his skin. “Eugh, actually. I’m fucking filthy. Shower. I am having one.”

Greg smiles and snags the glass from John’s hand. “Off you go then, I am sure Sherlock and I can keep ourselves entertained in the meantime.” He turns back to the sink, filling the glass so he can drink from it as well.

John heaves himself up out of the chair, feeling heavy and boneless. He takes two steps towards the washroom, before he turns back to the other two men. “Don’t actually though. Entertain yourselves, I mean. I mean, for now. Just... I don’t want to miss anything. Please.”

Sherlock and Greg looked at each other. Greg set the glass back down on the counter gently. It is only four steps across the distance to John, but when he gets there he finds Sherlock beside him. John pulls them in close and buries his face between them. He inhales sharply once, then pushes them both away. “Fuck off, you are both entirely too bloody tall. Just don’t, until I get back.”

Greg smiles and reaches out to squeeze John’s arse as the smaller man retreats. “Just don’t use all the hot water. I could do with a rinse too.”

Sherlock looks like he wants to follow John into the washroom. But Greg grabs his hand and pulls him back. “Let him be, he is okay.” Greg pushes Sherlock towards the kitchen table. “You still have some breakfast, finish that up. Shall I make more coffee?” He fills the kettle quickly.

Sherlock let himself be propelled towards the last of Mrs. Hudson’s scones, but his head is twisted towards the hallway. “hmm, yes, black and two sugars. Thank you Lestrade.”

Greg snorts. “You can put in your own bloody sugar, Holmes. He’s fine, really. And if you hover too much he gets shouty. Which would amuse me, so feel free.” Greg stops himself from rinsing out his mug when he hears the splash of the shower.

Sherlock’s head snaps back to Greg. “I’d feel better if he did shout at me. A bit.” His brow furrows. “You should be shouting too. Am I not  a wanted criminal?”

“Actually, no you aren’t. All your cases were reviewed, and they eventually found the real kidnapper, once the boy regained consciousness and could give a proper statement. They’d been shown a film with your face and some bollocks story about hurting the mum and dad. Where they got footage of you I’ll never know. You did kidnap John a bit, but I don’t know if he will press charges on that one. It would have all fallen apart in a couple days anyway. I think that was the hardest part for John. Knowing that if he’d been able to stretch it out a bit longer it would have sorted itself.”

Sherlock frowned at the scone on his plate. “If I had gone in, he would have won. He would have killed you and not given me the chance to kill myself to save you.”

“Are you sure?”

“He wanted me destroyed, if I had been unable to evade capture or allowed myself to simply wait out his game I would have, in his view, forfeited. I... I didn’t know who he would target, beyond John... I wasn’t certain he knew about you.”

Greg watched Sherlock talking to his plate, startling when the kettle clicked off. He turned back to the counter, reached for the french press and sighed when he realized he hadn’t cleaned it out after the last pot. “Tea. We are having tea.”

Sherlock huffed out a sigh. “Decades of drinking instant, six months in Canada and now I find the stuff repulsive. I did miss tea.”

They spent the next ten minutes discussing the various types of coffee bean and roasts that Sherlock had discovered in the new world. Greg holding desperately to the trivia, unable to forget that he was one of the three people that made up the heart of Sherlock Holmes.

+++++++

John stripped off his remaining clothing and stepped into the shower, hissing slightly as the hot water melted a layer of grime off his skin. He decided against using the time alone to have another crisis. Sherlock was back, Sherlock wanted him, and Greg. It made a bizarre sort of sense, it had been a misunderstanding before. Sherlock had pushed him away at Angelo’s because he wasn’t the work. But then John had killed the cabbie, and Sherlock with the emotional intelligence of a... well of a Sherlock, had been unable to retract the statement. Greg had been a surprise to John, Sherlock probably knew just as he knew about Rebecca’s affairs. But being Sherlock he never said anything about it. John didn’t think he needed to be concerned about Irene, it was unlikely that she would barge in. And if she did... well John could think of worse things to have happen. She would likely get bored and wander off again anyway. He frowned, he had discounted Molly as well. He wanted to be angry at her, he really did, but found that he couldn’t muster any fury. She had done what Sherlock wanted her to do, she had done it to protect both of them. And then she had vanished, he scrubbed himself quickly, giving his hair a quick shampoo. He realized with a sudden terror that he hadn’t heard from Molly since just after Sherlock’s fall. He had been so caught up in his own sadness that he hadn’t noticed her absence. He shut off the shower, cold fear spiralling into his gut. “Don’t panic, I’m sure she is fine.”

He dried himself off and put his dressing gown back on, _she’s fine she’s fine she’s fine_ , not bothering with putting last night’s t-shirt back on.

He burst out of the bathroom, trying to contain his fear. It was surreal to watch Sherlock and Greg, sitting at the kitchen table chatting about something completely trivial (And since when does Sherlock do small talk anyway?)

“What happened to Molly Hooper?” He blurted out.

Sherlock turned in his chair and John’s breath hitched in his throat. _Sherlock sitting in the kitchen talking about the relative merits of light versus dark coffee roasts_.

“I haven’t seen her since...” at least Sherlock had the grace not to say ‘since I faked my own death.’ “I... why would something have happened to her? Isn’t she still at Bart’s?”

“John, she’s fine. That new bloke Rogers, he said she was working on a book, some microbes or something. And she went down to Brighton to research...” Greg waved his hand, trying to indicate some scholarly pursuit. “and while she was there she met some Morstan person and got married. Caused a big do at Bart’s because she didn’t come back from her leave. Then Stamford told me that she was emailing him and he got all science-y and I stopped paying attention.”

Sherlock whirled around to face Greg again. “She got married?” he squeaked. “I mean, it is good. That is good.”

“Stamford’s sure it is her?” John doesn’t fidget, but his hand clenched at his side, he’s already feeling relief, but he needs to be sure. “Emails can be faked.”

“We can check tomorrow, I’ll go to Bart’s. Sherlock should stay home, but I can drop in on Mike.” Greg stood and flicked the kettle back on, warming the water to make John some tea. “She’s smart. Went down to Brighton on a leave, dropped off the radar. Found a nice young man and settled down. Sounds like she has more sense than the rest of us.”

“Oi! I found a nice young man and settled down too. I’ve got at least as much sense as Molly Hooper.” John rolled his wrist, shaking out the remaining tension in his hand.

Greg snorted, turning back to the table and leaning against the counter. “Flattery will get you everywhere John Watson. But I’ll thank you not to describe us as settled. I’ve done settled, doesn’t suit us.”

Sherlock’s brain was still trying to arrange itself around the idea of Molly getting married. Logically it shouldn’t concern him. He didn’t have any claim to her although he did consider her a part of his emotional pantheon. He understood that most people would consider what they had shared to be a one night stand, and he hardly expected her to seek his permission before becoming involved with someone else. It was irrational to be disturbed that she hadn’t even attempted to inform him of her progress. It had been safer for her  not to have any means of contacting him. Of course she couldn’t let him know what had changed in her life.

“I’d like to go to Brighton, after. I should thank her.”

John and Greg both turned to look at Sherlock. “Yeah, alright. We’ll take a holiday and go to see her.” John said. “Once this is all sorted.”

Greg set a fresh cup of tea in front of John and resumed his seat.

John sat heavily in his chair and picked up the mug, more on autopilot than out of any real desire to drink tea. They all sat quietly for a few minutes. Each man lost in their own thoughts. Sherlock picked apart the last of the scones and seemed to be trying to find the smallest piece possible to put in his mouth. John considered telling him off, but he was still eating so he left it alone.

John’s mug was suddenly empty and he decided that he couldn’t stand the quiet. “Right, I’m going shopping.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up. “Why? Mrs. Hudson said she would go out for us.”

“Nope, I am not asking our landlady to buy us condoms. We don’t have any, and I shouldn’t have before. But I am not doing anything...” John gestured not meeting either of their gazes. “more without. I’ve decided I’m not going to panic, but there is a part of my brain that is very angry with myself. And tomorrow I am taking you in for tests, and me too. If Greg wasn’t going to the Yard I would make him go as well.”

Greg drained the last of his tea. “There is a clinic at Bart’s, I’ll go when I talk to Mike.”

John closed his eyes, some of the tension in his expression lessening. “That’s still a week, for results. Three days if we are lucky. I don’t think... No I’m not going without for three days. Not now.” He opened his eyes, flicking his gaze to Sherlock. He didn’t think he would be able to go three hours without jumping the man again, let alone three days.

“John, I’m not... I don’t.”

“Sherlock, I know. But Greg and I have been exclusive for two years, this is what people do. Well, this is what people ought to do. Our lives aren’t exactly risk free either.”

Sherlock flinched, but didn’t respond.

“Right, so condoms, we could do with more lube too. And food.” John braced himself. “You are eating.” He fought to keep the question mark out of his voice

Greg remembered the feeling of Sherlock’s ribs under his fingers. “He is eating.” Greg’s tone suggested that he would be more than happy to tie Sherlock down and force feed him if necessary.

“I. yes...” Sherlock stopped picking at the scone in front of him and put a large chunk into his mouth.

John picked up the pad of paper they kept on the shelf by the kitchen door. “Any requests?”

Sherlock looked lost, as though no one had ever asked him what kind of food he would want to eat. “More ground coffee. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

John narrowed his eyes “Have you ever actually been shopping before? Never mind, I don’t think we can take you out in public yet anyway. Right, I’ll get dressed and pop down to the shop.” He made a mental inventory of the cupboards and turned to Greg. “You will be okay with him?”

Sherlock made an disgruntled noise. But Greg smiled and nodded. “We’ll look at the cold cases until you get back.”

Sherlock perked up a bit at the mention of the cold cases. John nodded and headed for the bedroom.

“Greek yogurt.” Sherlock said suddenly.

John stopped in the hallway and turned on his heel. “What flavour?”

“Strawberry?”

“Okay.” He nodded, making a mental note of the day that Sherlock Holmes had actually requested a food.

John walked into the bedroom and closed the door, gathering up fresh clothes and tossing aside his dressing gown. He dressed absently, and had to redo the buttons on his shirt when he realized he had missed one. He wanted to stay, but they really didn’t have condoms, and he doubted they would be satisfied, or able to stop once they started something. He already felt the crawl of desire under his skin. He wanted Sherlock, in every possible way. The strange thing was that his desire for Sherlock didn’t lessen his desire for Greg, if anything it was amplified. He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, forcing himself to take deep lungfuls of air. He felt like a cliche, some pitiful romantic hero who finds himself in the embrace of his one true love. He tried and failed to imagine the three of them as cartoon princes, pressed up against the pantry wall and making the preserves shake.

He giggled and bent down to pull on his socks. The giggle turned into a moan, as a sudden extremely vivid picture filled his mind. Sherlock pressed up against the kitchen cabinets, bent slightly over the counter with his hands on the top cabinets. Greg was fucking him so hard he was making the mugs in the cabinet rattle. John didn’t mind that his libido was apparently excluding him from his own fantasies. The fact that the two men involved were currently breakfasting in the kitchen made him groan again.

He finished dressing as quickly as possible and went out into the kitchen. It was a relief that Greg and Sherlock had relocated to the sitting room, and reclaimed their pajama bottoms as well. Greg was on the loveseat and Sherlock had seemingly laid claim to one of the chairs. They had pulled out the cold case files and Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in the chair, his fingers steepled and his eyes closed. John felt a pang, for how completely normal and utterly surreal it was to see Sherlock like that again. He knew that he shouldn’t disturb Sherlock when he was in that state, so he pressed a kiss against the top of Greg’s head. “Omelettes for lunch. Takeaway again for dinner?”

Greg made an appreciative noise. John’s omelettes were one of Greg’s favourites, although not usually a lunch food. He raised his eyebrows and looked hopefully at John. “Bacon?”

John smiled, “Yeah alright.” He slipped on his shoes and checked the pocket of his coat for his keys, phone and wallet. Then went back into the kitchen to grab the canvas tote that he almost always forgot to bring shopping with him. He let himself out through the kitchen door and clattered down the stairs, intending to duck in to see if Mrs. Hudson needed anything while he was out.

He was standing in the hallway, about to call out to Mrs. Hudson when he heard several loud thumps followed by the sound of the sitting room door being thrown open. Sherlock must have only touched one in three of the stairs, because suddenly John was pressed against the wall. Nearly two meters of consulting detective wrapped around him.

“You kissed Greg before you left.”

“You were in your mind palace, I didn’t think I should bother you.” John realized the error of his ways before Sherlock had to point it out. “Okay, but you have to remember that you told me to do it. It isn’t on to shout at me, when you asked me to.”

“John.” Sherlock used his best. ‘you aren’t an idiot John, why do you sound like one when you talk.’ tone.

John sighed and tilted his head, pressing up on his toes to brush a kiss against Sherlock’s lips. “I am going to the store. I will be back soon, go and solve all of Greg’s cold cases while I am away.”

Sherlock pressed another kiss against the bridge of John’s nose. “Mrs. Hudson has already gone out. She’ll likely bring us beans and bread. I don’t like mushrooms in my omelettes.”

John groaned as his hindbrain suggested all the things that could be done in the hallway while Mrs. Hudson was out. “Condoms, we need condoms.”

“We really don’t, John we are fine.”

John frowned and pushed Sherlock away. “I know you think that, but it... no we need condoms.” John paused, wondering if Sherlock was having a sexual identity crisis. “Unless you don’t want...”

Sherlock made a predatory noise and crowded back into John’s space. “ **John**.”

John’s hips bucked involuntarily and he shuddered with wanting. The small part of his brain that was still capable of reasoning took charge and informed his body that Sherlock was a threat. John flipped Sherlock, knocking him hard against the wall. He ground his hip into Sherlock’s groin. “You want me to fuck you?”

Sherlock whimpered, his head knocking back against the wall as he raised his chin to expose his neck. “ _John_.”

John broke away and stood back, doing his best to appear calm and collected. “Then we need condoms.” John took two steps back towards the door to the street. “Go solve crimes, I’ll be back before you can say antidisestablishmentarianism.” He turned and marched out the door, pulling it closed before Sherlock could try to follow him.

He was several doors down when his phone chimed in his pocket. He fished it out and thumbed open the message.

_Antidisestablishmentarianism -SH_

John smiled but didn’t bother to answer. He’d add Black Adder to his list of “things to make Sherlock watch so references don’t fly past him.”

+++++++++++++

John picked up a basket from the stack inside the door. Wincing a bit at the artificial brightness and the cheerful yet subdued pop music playing through the store. He’d been planning his shopping spree in his head on the way to the store. He knew the layout fairly well and he wanted this over with and back home as soon as humanly possible. Dairy aisle first, eggs, sharp cheddar.  There were two different styles of Greek yogurt, one desert and one healthy. John grabbed one of each in strawberry flavour. He tried not to flinch at the price, then laughed at himself, he’d always been living off the money that Sherlock had left him (his locum work kept him busy, and the pay was decent, but he knew the majority of his money was from Sherlock). Now he was just spending it on Sherlock again. John Watson, army captain, surgeon, and kept man. Well if he was going to be kept he was going to damn well enjoy it. He smiled to himself as he made his way down the personal care aisle. He grabbed an extra toothbrush for Sherlock and looked briefly at the shampoo and conditioner. John remembered Sherlock’s posh hair stuff, but he had never seen it in any shop, and he had wondered if Sherlock had it made especially. He decided that Sherlock would have to make do with Greg’s and his until he could have his own made up.

John sighed as he approached the end of the aisle, he hated this part. This was where Mrs. Parker, the ancient woman who insisted that only he could look at her bunions, would come around the corner and catch him. He’d been fairly relieved when he and Greg had finished their tests and it had become unnecessary. He quickly selected two boxes of condoms, one latex and one not, and a tube each of his and Greg’s favourite kinds of lube. His hand hovered, and then he pulled down a third box of condoms. With three cocks to keep covered it seemed best to have a plethora on hand. He tucked the boxes under the brick of cheese and departed the aisle, trying his best not to look like a man running from a crime scene. He toured the rest of the shop quickly, laying in basics, and had to backtrack to pick up bacon for Greg.

His basket was uncomfortably heavy by the time he approached the front of the store. He stopped just at the edge of the aisles, there had been very few customers in the store and there was no queue at the chip and pin machines, but Jen was standing at her register. She had seen him coming in most likely. If he went to the chip and pin machine she would know that something was up, and with his luck, she would have to come and help him because the machine hated him. He squared his shoulders and crossed the open space in front of the tills. He had invaded Afghanistan, he could purchase condoms at Tesco.

Jen smiled at him as he started unloading his basket. “Morning Mr. Watson!” She scanned the yogurt. “The desert one is just like cheesecake, I’m addicted to the stuff.”

John smiled and made sociable noises as he unpacked the rest of the basket. God he hoped that Jen was over 18, suddenly he felt very old, and very dirty. It wasn’t weird, and she probably sold condoms all the time, he had nothing to be ashamed of. But he could feel his cheeks turning red as he lifted the cheese out of the basket. He could just put the basket away and leave, but he would be damned if he was going home empty handed. He scooped out the boxes and put them on the conveyor. Then he moved down to the end of the register and started putting the groceries into his tote. He let the sound of her chatter wash over him, waiting for it to slow or stop in shock.

“Sorry, what?” He’d been so distracted that he had missed her saying the total. He flushed and looked at the screen behind her head. “Oh on my card.” John fumbled in his jacket for his wallet and handed over the card. He fumbled with the pin machine and smiled as she handed him his receipt.

Jen packed up the rest of his items, including the condoms, and wished him a happy afternoon.

John grinned as he picked up the bag.  "Thanks, you too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little chapter, to be followed in hopefully short order with loads of sexy fun times. (it is mostly written, if I am good I should be able to finish tonight)
> 
> I haven't forgotten you.  
> Thanks for sticking with me so far.

Sherlock climbed the stairs quickly after John shut the front door. He grimaced slightly, John had made another of his fairly obvious pop culture references, and it had gone over Sherlock’s head. He resigned himself to sitting through yet another of John’s “educational” television series.

“I need your phone, Lestrade.”

Greg made a small noise and waved at the coffee table, his eyes fixed on the case file in front of him. Sherlock huffed, but bent down to pick up the phone.

“Hang on. Who are you calling?”

“I’m not calling anyone. I am texting John. He’s being unreasonable.” His fingers flew over the screen as he typed out _“Antidisestablishmentarianism -SH”_ He had to go back and fix it, because autocorrect didn’t believe him, and he sighed as he hit send.

“He really isn’t.” Greg said as he continued to read.

Sherlock dropped the phone back onto the table with more force than was strictly necessary. “Mycroft tested me when he dumped me in that horrible rehab. I haven’t... you know I’ve been clean since then.”

Greg closed the folder and set it down on his lap. “And what about Irene and Molly?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but then closed it again sharply.

“Yeah, that is about as I thought. John is being sensible Sherlock. And it will only be a week at the most.” He smirked “Also, knowing John, it won’t be a dull week.”

Sherlock rallied, trying a different tack. He rolled his shoulders down and practically purred. “Greg, I was safe with Irene. And Molly is _Molly_ surely...”

Greg straightened in the chair, his eyes dark and flashing with anger. “No. Sherlock, that is not on at all. I’ve a mind to take you over my knee if you are going to behave like a child. I might do anyway when John gets home. You cannot run to one of us when the other tells you something you don’t like. And I wouldn’t overdo it on my name either. I’m happy you remembered it, but it won’t win you any arguments.”

Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, knowing Lestrade was serious from his tone. He rocked back on his heels, letting out an involuntary grunt. He imagined himself spread out over Greg’s lap, pajama bottoms tangled around his ankles. Dressing gown rucked up under his arms. John would be there too, would John stand beside him, or would he sit back and watch? Sherlock’s eyes closed, trying to reconstruct a scenario in his mind palace that hadn’t happened. He growled in frustration.  
Greg chuckled, snapping Sherlock back into the present and the room around him. “Alright then, but we have to wait until John gets back. I think that is firmly in the bounds of things he doesn’t want to miss.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock huffed and returned to his chair. He didn’t pick up the case file he had been working on before John had gone out. He settled down and studied Lestrade.

Greg shifted under Sherlock’s gaze, pulling one ankle up and tucking it under his knee. He raised an eyebrow, expecting Sherlock to try some further wheedling. He wondered if Sherlock would try to push his boundaries again, deliberately seeking a punishment. When it became obvious that Sherlock was not going to press further Greg broke eye contact and re-opened the file on his lap. He doubted he would get much done while Sherlock was studying him so intently but he refused enter into a staring contest. That way was madness when one was dealing with Sherlock in a strop.

 

Sherlock could access his mind palace with his eyes open, of course. Much of the time that he spent apparently idle, in cabs or waiting for lab results, was actually spent organizing the information that was most relevant to the case before him.

He reviewed the morning so far. John had pressed him against the fridge and... Sherlock huffed, his brain simply refused to concentrate when it came to memories of... that. He noted his accelerated breathing and pulse. He was finding it impossible not to spin fantasies from the threads of sense memory. He wanted to know what it felt like to be inside John, his fingers and his cock. Sherlock sighed, focusing on Lestrade sitting across the room pretending to review case files. He needed to open a whole new room to contain all the new information about Greg Lestrade. The sound of Greg’s voice in his ear as he pushed John’s mouth onto his cock. The way that he coaxed John through his own orgasm. The threat, but really it was a promise, of spanking Sherlock for trying to undermine John’s authority.

And John, pushing him up against the wall downstairs. Going out to buy condoms, John wanting to fuck Sherlock. Sherlock wanting, unable to even answer him, just wanting every part of John touching him.

He growled. “How can I want something so much, and not even know what it is?”

Lestrade looked up from the file. “Say that again?”

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, pulling his knees up against his chest. “I want you, and John. I want to know how you work so well, I want to know where every one of your freckles are. But that is not right. I want... and yesterday I didn’t know that was even possible. I want things that I don’t have words for and I can’t even imagine.”  
Greg dropped the folder onto the coffee table. “Come here.”

“I don’t think I can.” Sherlock unfolded his legs, his body clearly wanting to move closer to Greg. “What about John?”

“John won’t mind, we aren’t going to do anything he will miss. Just come and sit next to me.” Greg shifted and patted the cushion next to him.

Sherlock was trapped in honey, he wanted to move closer to Greg. And he wasn’t afraid, exactly, he felt like he was panicking, desperate for contact and terrified that he would lose control once they touched. He crossed the room again, standing dumbly beside Lestrade’s horrible little love seat.

“C’mon, I won’t bite.” Greg shifted over again, trying to give Sherlock as much room as he needed.

Sherlock folded himself onto the loveseat, his back pressed against the other arm. He pulled his knees back up, shielding himself from Greg. “Won’t?”

“That would be something that needs to wait for John to get home. Also, you don’t want me to. I meant what I said earlier about not doing things to please me. It is only fun if you want it Sherlock. John likes it a bit rough, and so do I when I’m at home. But neither of us wants something that isn’t freely offered. You don’t have to want the same things we do.” Greg ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “God this always sounds so clear in my head, but getting it out everything gets tripped up.”

“I know you aren’t going to force me, but how can I want you and not want the things that you want?” Sherlock wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to hold himself in. “That doesn’t make sense, and also doesn’t matter. I can’t think of a single thing that I don’t want to have done to me, or do to you. I’m afraid that it is only a failure of my imagination.”

Greg shifted slightly, images of things he could do with and to Sherlock flooding his mind. “We meant what we said about going slow too.” His hand moved to cover his mouth. “Unless that is the problem. It isn’t something most people rush into, Sherlock. It takes time.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No. You aren’t.” Greg moved forward, picking up a pen and notepad from the detritus on the table. “Alright, we covered blow jobs this morning.” He made a quick note on the pad _Blow job -receiving_  “Right, I’ll just list off everything I can think of and you stop me when I get to something that doesn’t lift your luggage.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed and he tightened his grip on his knees.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever thanks are due to antidiogenes. Aria, Monster, evith, (I'm drunk posting so sorry if i forget anyone. leave me a note and I shall make the proper apologies)
> 
> no beta or brit pick, please forgive.

John opened the kitchen door, dropping his keys on the side table and the canvas bag onto the kitchen table. “Hey, I’m back. Someone want to help put this stuff away? Are you hungry?” He turned to look into the sitting room, to find both men staring at him over the back of the loveseat. “Oh Jesus, what have you done?”

“We made a list.” Greg’s voice cracked as he spoke and he coughed to clear his throat. There was the briefest flash of guilt on Sherlock’s face, and John filed that away for later.

“Well it was a bit late, I’m just back, and I am not going out again.” John turned back and started unpacking the shopping. “I got your bacon if that is what you are worried about.”

Sherlock made a frustrated noise and launched himself off the couch. “A list of sexual positions, John, not a shopping list.” He snatched the bag from John and rifled through it, pulling out one box of condoms. “This can wait.” He took the bag and put it whole into the fridge.

“Oh.” John looked back at Greg. “Ah Sherlock, there is lube in there. It is... unpleasant cold.” He crowded up against Sherlock and fished around in the bag until he found the tubes, pulling them out one at a time and handing them over to Sherlock. He tried not to blush as he reached back into the bag and pulled out the other two boxes of condoms and piled them on top of what Sherlock was already holding.

Sherlock watched him with ever widening eyes. “John, you are brilliant.”

Greg joined them in the kitchen, not bothering to hide the adjustment he made to his groin. “Shall we put some of that to use?” He pressed a kiss against John’s hairline.

John’s pulse raced. “Let me see that list.”

Greg handed him the pad of paper. John raised his eyebrows and took it from him. It had been started in Greg’s writing, but there was a point where Greg’s handwriting turned to a scrawl, to be replaced with Sherlock’s tightly controlled scribble.

John’s face did warm as he reviewed the list. “Well this is... extensive. I thought we were taking this slow.” Most of the list consisted of things he hadn’t even discussed with a new sexual partner, let alone attempted.

“Sherlock seems to think we can skip the preliminaries. I tried to tell him it is about him and not about us. He’s not listening.” Greg wrapped his arms around John’s waist and pulled him close, resting his chin on John’s shoulder.

“I’m not _fragile_ , John. I don’t need to be... educated. I can...” Sherlock gestured at the list. Trying not to spill the pile of products in his arms.

“What if we need to be educated? How exactly does one go about pleasing Sherlock Holmes?”

“Greg tried that John, he made that list to try and find something that I would not agree to. There wasn’t anything...” Sherlock’s eyes are sharp, defiant, “there wasn’t anything I would not have done or do with either or both of you.”

“Just being willing to do something doesn’t mean you will enjoy it. And besides which, what have you actually done? I may be out of practice but I can still tell when you have done something I would think is a bit not good.” His voice was firm but he was soft and relaxed against the warmth of Greg.

Sherlock blinked, and met Greg’s gaze before looking down at his hands. His heart pounding, knowing that he couldn’t lie or evade. Greg would tell John if Sherlock didn’t, theirs was not the sort of relationship that would tolerate misdirection or outright dishonesty. Sherlock inhaled sharply and looked up to meet John’s eyes again. “I am sorry John, I attempted to circumvent your decision about this,” he raised his hands to indicate the pile of condoms, “by appealing to Lestrade’s...ah... authority.”

John huffed and put his hand over Greg’s “That go well then?”

Sherlock blanched, something John would not have believed possible without the evidence of his eyes. When Sherlock replied his voice lacked its usual confidence. “He said if you had been home he would have put me over his knee.”

John shifted back against Greg slightly. “Alright then. Go put that stuff down in the bedroom. I need a quick word with Greg.” Sherlock started to shuffle off, but John reached out and grabbed his wrist, “Hey, pouting isn’t on either, you are going to get put over Greg’s knee, because you did do something wrong. But you do know what you did right? Telling me you are sorry. Which also means you will get a reward.”

Sherlock pulled back his shoulders and looked John in the eye. “I am sorry John, for everything. Lestrade, I should not have tried to put you in that position.” His eyes scanned over the air briefly and John could almost see, _“Emotional blackmail, bit not good.”_ being put into permanent storage.

John pulled Sherlock forward and pressed a kiss against his cheek, pressing up onto his toes to reach over the stack of tubes and boxes in Sherlock’s arms. “Go put that stuff away. We will be right in.”

Sherlock paused, until Greg gave a tilt of his chin; indicating an acceptance of the apology if not forgiveness of the sin. Sherlock slipped away down the hall, looking less like a dejected (but overgrown) five year old and more like a man considering his options.

John pressed back against Greg, looking down at the list. “He wrote this.”

“I did help a bit, but yeah he wrote it.”

“We are in trouble aren’t we?”

“Yup. We won’t be able to leave the flat for ages.”

John huffed. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“I didn’t. It was for all three of us. We can’t try to get what we want by playing off the other two.” Greg tightened his arms around John. “Anything we decide we should decide together. I think you are right about this. He didn’t but he understands now, we just have to make sure we are all on the same page.”

John turns his head and presses a kiss against the taller man’s jaw. “How did you get so smart?”

“I’m old remember?” His laugh is a warm rumble against John’s back. “We should go, before he... well before he thinks himself into a fit I suppose.”

John pulls him forward and Greg’s hands slide to his hips. They walk down the hall in a two person samba line. When they open the door to the bedroom there is a neat little display on John’s bedside table, and Sherlock is pacing between the bed and the wall.

“Too late.” Greg says, his hands falling off John’s hips as the other man pulls forward another step to catch Sherlock by both arms.

“Sherlock, stop.” John’s tone is forceful and cuts through some of the layers of Sherlock’s mania.

“John, I can’t. You should... throw me in the Thames. I’m not good John, I don’t... this is not... I don’t deserve this. I will take all of this and use it up and make it into ashes.” Sherlock tries to pull away but John holds his wrist tight.

“Sherlock, stop. Look at me. You saved me. Another day or month in that bedsit and I would have ate my gun. You saved me everyday that we were together because you are good. And you saved me when you were gone. Look at us Sherlock. We are here. If you weren’t good, would we still be here? Would I live everyday in your home if I didn’t think you were good?”

“I left you the money, I made it so you would stay.”

John’s hand is moving and he has struck Sherlock before he can pull the blow, flat palmed against Sherlock’s cheek. “You are a bastard, leaving me that money. If you thought I would let Mycroft have a single thing of yours after what he did. If you think I needed to be paid to remember you... But I knew, always while you were gone, and now even when you are being colossally stupid. It was an apology, for leaving, God you knew for so long that you would have to go, didn’t you?” John releases Sherlock’s wrist, lets him rub the stinging red mark on his cheek.

“I hoped I wouldn’t have to, I tried everything to stay. I did. I swear it John.”

“I wish you had let me help. But I understand why you thought I couldn’t. For the record I think you were wrong. I may not be half as clever as you but I do have certain practical knowledge that might have been put to good use.” John reaches up to cover Sherlock’s hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry about that too.”

Sherlock’s eyes flash. “I deserved it. I told you I wasn’t good John.”

Greg laughs, low and dark. “I’ve been a very naughty boy, detective inspector.” He wanders over to the desk and pulls out the chair. “Don’t ever do that, by the way. Work is work and home is home. As much as we can we keep them separate.” He spins the chair around so that it is facing the room and sits down. The chair is too small for him to really sit properly, and it is entirely possible there won’t be enough lap for Sherlock. This could go so many shades of wrong Greg doesn’t even bother to think about it. “You need a safe word. Something simple for you to remember but that wouldn’t come up in normal conversation.”

Sherlock is flabbergasted, which John finds very amusing, it is so rare to catch the detective wrong-footed. It is pleasant to stand back and watch as Sherlock’s brain processes information and resets. “Norbury.”

John takes Sherlock’s hand, gently this time and pulls him towards Greg. He wants to ask if Sherlock is sure, wants to check and make sure that the rapid emotional shifts are genuine and not some attempt to cover deeper trauma.

The distances of the room seem infinite but it is only the work of a couple steps to bring Sherlock to rest in front of Greg. John drops Sherlock’s hand and Greg reaches up to capture it. He pulls until Sherlock drops down to his knees in front of Greg.

“Are you doing this because you think it will fix something? Or because you think it is expected of you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because there is no better way to break trust and collapse this house of cards that to force yourself into something you don’t want.”  
Sherlock looked into Greg’s eyes. “I’m sure. You said it and I could see it clearly, I wanted... even when I thought I had ruined everything. The list... everything. I know this isn’t really about what I did, that doesn’t change anything. But it isn’t an experiment, only it is... I’m testing myself...”

Greg smiled and ran his thumb along Sherlock’s jaw, stopping the flow of words from Sherlock’s lips. “You aren’t sure, and that is okay. What is your safeword?”

“Norbury.”

“And you will use it if anything becomes too much, too intense or feels wrong to you. John will be watching, he’ll know if you try to push past for us.” Greg pulled the tie of Sherlock’s robe open and smoothed the fabric off his shoulders.

Sherlock turned to look up at John. “I won’t, I need you to trust me again.”

John took up the robe before it could fall to the floor and he turned away to hang it up. His heart clenched as he realized that he had never stopped trusting Sherlock, even when he should have been broken by Sherlock’s lies. When he returns to Greg’s side he presses a kiss against Sherlock’s forehead. “Sometimes for a genius, you are really daft.” He hooked his fingers under Sherlock’s chin and tilted his head up. “Now, up.”

He positioned Sherlock on Greg’s right side and exerted the slightest pressure to return him to his knees. There really was just an obscene amount of Sherlock, and the chair was too narrow to provide that much room on Greg’s lap. John made a frustrated noise, “If this is going to become habit, we will have to go antiquing again.”

Sherlock’s arms fall over the left side of Greg’s lap, but even with his hips pressed tight against Greg’s thigh there isn’t enough room for Sherlock’s hands to touch the floor; he is rigid, trying to hold himself flat across Greg’s lap. Greg slides his hands over Sherlock’s back to smooth away some of the tension. John folds himself down near Sherlock’s head, settling comfortably on his knees with his feet tucked in underneath him. John smoothes his fingers over Sherlock’s hair.

“You are alright, just breathe deeply, relax a bit,” He looks up at Greg, who mouths ten “it is only ten, well nine. You should get credit for me slapping you.” He pets Sherlock continuously, matching the rhythm of Greg’s fingers over Sherlock’s spine, until he feels some of the tension draining from Sherlock’s neck and shoulders. “That’s very good Sherlock, are you ready now? Do you want me to count for you?”

“Yes, please John.” He sounds distant but clear headed.

John looks up at Greg and nods. Greg runs his hands over Sherlock’s back and down over his hips, snagging his thumbs in the waist of Sherlock’s pajama bottoms and pulling them down over the curve of his arse.

Sherlock starts and his head comes up against John’s hand but the tension flows out as quickly as it came over him. John’s hand soothes over Sherlock again and he nods at Greg. “I’ll say the number, then a three count. Alright Sherlock?”

Sherlock nods against the pressure of John’s fingers. John wonders if he should lie down on the floor, so he can see Sherlock’s face. He decides against it, thinking that part of re-establishing trust with Sherlock is trusting him with this.

“One.”

As promised Greg counts to three in his head before he brings his hand down sharply against the curve of Sherlock’s arse. John is impressed, Sherlock doesn’t tense before the blow lands. The sound of flesh striking flesh is loud in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon on Baker Street, and it is punctuated by a sharp inhale from Sherlock.

John checks, even though he wants to just count another strike, wants the thrill that goes through him at the sharp sounds.

“Alright?”

“Yes.”

“Two.”

This time Sherlock does tense, knowing what is coming, and the sound has a higher quality. His breath is a hiss through his teeth. John closes his eyes, doesn’t ask because he can’t trust his voice. They wait until Sherlock says quietly. “Again.”

John opens his eyes and looks at Greg, who nods and licks his lips. His left hand is planted on the small of Sherlock’s back. His right rests by his side, loose and ready.

John licks his lips too, wondering who will break first, Sherlock or John.

“Three.”

The smack is satisfying when it lands, and Sherlock’s inhaled breath is exhaled as “Again.”

“Four.” John shifts slightly on his knees trying to see over Sherlock’s back, but the curve of his arse hides the spot that Greg strikes. Greg pauses and they both ignore Sherlock’s “Again.” Greg rubs his palm over the growing pink mark. Sherlock’s hips move a fraction of an inch against Greg’s thigh and Greg smiles at John.  
“He’s hard?” John knows the answer, asks mostly for Sherlock’s benefit. Bends down to press his mouth next to Sherlock’s ear. “You like this, then?”

“Yes, please John.” It isn’t really begging, just a request. The new, polite Sherlock showing his kinky side.

“The other side now. Alright?” John sits back on his knees and watches Greg run his palm over Sherlock’s left side.

Sherlock’s hips hitch again and his exhale counts as a moan. “Yes.”

“Five.”

The smack across the fresh skin gives John a greedy little thrill, and he hopes, how he hopes that they will do this again. Sherlock inhales, and John waits. Knowing that he should wait is killing him, he wants to call the next strike... waits only to see if Sherlock will safe word, or even ask for a pause. When Sherlock only exhales John runs his hand over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“It is okay, we have you. Six.”

John shifts closer and Sherlock’s hands fall on either side of his knees, he bends close to hear Sherlock’s breathing, the small hitch as Greg’s hand connects and the moan that escapes as he rolls his hips.

“You are doing really well Sherlock. Seven.”

Sherlock inhales the praise and exhales on the strike.

“Eight.”

John leans close, after the blow lands, concentrates because his French courses seem a hundred years ago. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

_“s'il vous plaît ne vous arrêtez pas”_

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, there is only one left.

Sherlock shifted against Greg’s lap, not a roll of hips but an adjustment of his position. “Harder. Please, let the last one be harder.”

Greg rumbled “I haven’t been pulling them Sherlock, and I’m not getting out any of the whips”

Sherlock’s hips did roll at the mention of whips, John felt the sharp exhale that accompanied the motion. Greg smoothed his hand over Sherlock’s back. “Last one this time. There are other ways, you just have to ask. We can... reproduce the results.”

“Yes, please.”

“Nine.”

The blow landed and Sherlock growled, rocking his hips back to keep Greg’s hand from withdrawing. Greg dropped his hand back down, gently and rubbed the place that he had struck. “Shush, you are fine. John, you should see.”

John curled down, putting his mouth against Sherlock’s ear, “Alright? Sherlock, I want to see, Sherlock, tell me that it is okay for me to look.” John wanted to see, but he wanted to maintain Sherlock’s boundaries as well.

Sherlock rolled his hips back up towards Greg’s hand and breathed out an assent.

John shifted back and rolled up to his feet. Years ago, after Afghanistan but before Sherlock, he wouldn’t have been able to even obtain this position. Now his knees reminded him that he was not entirely young anymore. _Sod that_ , he thought, looking down on the sprawl of Sherlock over Greg’s lap. If he lived a thousand years he would never forget this, and it made his pulse rush in his ears. _I can have this whenever I want, he’s alive and he is staying and we are the work, or near enough._ He circled around Sherlock, stepping over Greg’s legs, trying to not appear hasty but worried that the sight would fade if he took his time.

John inhaled sharply, the curve of Sherlock’s arse was pink and flushed, holding the colour from Greg’s hand. John ran his fingers down over Sherlock’s back, along the cooler skin where his shirt had been pushed up and over the warmth  of the fading pink. He closed his eyes and brought his hand up to the hem of the shirt again. Running his fingers over the skin, he could barely breathe. His fingers traced the knots of each of Sherlock’s vertebrae, and he knew, he did know that it was partly the angle and posture Sherlock was in, but he was also never going to forgive himself. He should have insisted that Sherlock be examined on his return, at least have let John take a look, make sure he was still fully functional. He’d been too wrapped up in his own joy to see what was in front of him. Of course, Sherlock was fine. He’d scoff and mock and maybe even throw a fit, but John remembered Sherlock eating breakfast this morning, eating the take away last night. He must know, he knows himself and he is filling up. Maybe Sherlock hoped that John wouldn’t notice. John swears to himself, if he stops eating I will tie him down and force feed him, but until he stops taking care of himself I will let him be.

John smiles, and he doesn’t even have to pretend that it isn’t sad. The idea of tying Sherlock Holmes to a chair and force feeding him pureed carrot is endlessly amusing. Not something he would like to try in practice, but an entertaining mental image nonetheless.

John scrapes his fingernail down Sherlock’s spine, catching over the folds in the t-shirt he was wearing, blunted then sharp as he comes free of the hem and contacts skin. “Next time I am going to fuck you like this, bent over Greg’s lap when he is finished with you. Hard enough that your arse will stay red until I come. Maybe while he is working I will let you suck me, just between the counts. Would you like that?”

He already knows the answer, Sherlock is moaning, rolling his hips hard against Greg’s thigh. Greg is watching him, the edge of his lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes full of wanting and something like pride. His left hand travels up along Sherlock’s back, tangles in his hair, pulling his head up and back.

“Up. Sherlock. Bed.” Greg says in monosyllables of desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: more things happen.
> 
> have i mentioned that I love you all?  
> I do, i really really do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here there be porn
> 
> as usual unbeta'd or brit-picked. please let me know if there is a glaring error.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I am so sorry that this took so long to write.
> 
> This for some reason is the only chapter I have written that I hated the first time I wrote it.   
> So I threw it out and started over from Greg's POV.
> 
> And then real life reared its ugly head.  
> Please forgive.

  
****  


The best, and most exciting, part of being in control is being in control of yourself. Greg loves the thrill of taking what he wants from John, because John gives everything so freely. Greg loves teetering on the edge of taking more than what is given, and having the control to keep from falling over. Having Sherlock over his lap felt almost the same, but Sherlock was still unexplored. The feel of his hard cock against Greg’s thigh was enough to assuage any guilt Greg might have been tempted to feel.

********   


He waited like a blindfolded man on a trapeze, as John described his desire to Sherlock, but the crowd hushed and the danger passed. Sherlock practically demanding John follow through immediately. Greg knows the reasons why, John is careful, if not with himself than always (before) with Sherlock, and he is a bit of an old fashioned romantic at heart. Despite all the things Greg had done to John, the first time Greg had bottomed for John had been... John hadn’t actually broken out rose petals, candles and Marvin Gaye but it had been a near thing.

********   


Greg doesn’t want to be gentle, with either of them. There are so many reasons why he should be gentle, and none of them are enough to calm him now. “Naked, both of you.” He says to forestall any further arguments between them. Sherlock’s arse is still exposed from his treatment, tantalizing under the edge of his t-shirt and over the waistband of his bottoms. John is still dressed from his trip to the shops. Greg just wants to see them, wants to press them against each other until they crack open.

********   


Tomorrow he will have to go back to the Yard, “borrow” some surveillance equipment and begin the process of resurrecting Sherlock Holmes. Today he has two men that he loves in his bedroom and he will make the most of it.

********   


He shakes his head as Sherlock, defiant, pulls the bottoms back up and settles on the edge of the bed. He should have days and possibly years in this room, but he wants it all now. He thinks, he could call in sick tomorrow, knows that he won’t. Greg gives John a look that prompts him to strip with military efficiency, instead of the slow tease that Greg could see building behind his eyes.

********   


He crosses to the door and hangs his dressing gown on the hook there, taking a deep breath as his decision firms. He’s back at the nightstand and opening boxes before he has the breath exhaled. He tears off a condom from the strip and picks up the lube that John bought for him, sets it down on the bed. Sherlock is right there beside him, watching his movements, quiet and very still. Greg turns and presses himself between Sherlock’s knees, his fingers curling over the packet. Greg has to curl down to reach for Sherlock’s mouth, the fingers of his free hand curling over Sherlock’s jaw, pulling him up.

********   


John would be gentle, but Greg pulls Sherlock close and it is teeth and he can feel the edge of what Sherlock is ready for. He pulls back and catches the edge of Sherlock’s lip in his teeth before letting go, and that is gentle isn’t it? Compared to what he wants. He whispers, and he doesn’t think John will hear, “I want you, I am going to take you, do you remember your safeword?”

********   


Sherlock growls, pressing up into him, an exchange of air in the shape of “ _Norbury_ ” barely a sound at all. Greg smiles into the kiss, runs the tips of his fingers over Sherlock’s back, catching the bottom edge of Sherlock’s t-shirt and stripping it away. John is behind him then, his fingers playing over Greg’s shoulders, tentative, and Greg feels something resembling guilt. This should probably be just between them, Greg has no claim here. Except that he does, his entire relationship with Sherlock can be revisited as Sherlock pushing Greg away for Sherlock’s emotional well being. There had been something there, and maybe it was fear, but Sherlock hadn’t done anything about it while he was married.

********   


Greg tamps the feeling down hard, they should sit down and sort this all out, have a long sane conversation about feelings and expectations. He’s sure they will, actually he is sure they will eventually explode and then put the pieces back together, and it is terrifying. But Sherlock’s hands on his waist entwine with John’s and all he wants now is to have this, and damn the consequences.

********   


He breaks away from Sherlock’s lips long enough to cross his arms and pull his own shirt off. He has it just over his head when John and Sherlock combine forces to slide his pajamas off. The noise he makes is half laugh and half groan, because these two together are dangerous when they want something. He drops the shirt and catches John’s hand, pulling him around until he is on the bed beside Sherlock. Sherlock’s fingers dig into his hip and Greg looks down at him. Sherlock’s eyes are wide, and he isn’t looking at it, but Greg’s cock is hard, there is a suggestion in their positioning, “If you want.” Greg says, pulling back slightly to give Sherlock room.

********   


“I...” the look on Sherlock’s face would be difficult to read if Greg wasn’t prepared for it. Greg took a full step back, the grip on his hips pulling Sherlock forward. Greg sighed as his fingers tangled in Sherlock’s hair. Greg closed his eyes as Sherlock pressed a kiss against the tip of his cock, and it was chaste, or nearly so, until Sherlock flicked his tongue out. Just enough of a tease, and a promise that Greg reserved the right to take more. Right now he wanted something else, and he had plans on how he was going to take it. He pulled away and opened his eyes.

********   


He pushed Sherlock back until he overbalanced and fell back onto the bed. John followed him without being prompted, fingers and mouth trailing over Sherlock’s skin. The tenderness of it all makes Greg shake himself mentally, coming down from the rush of having Sherlock over his knee. He adjusts, sliding onto the bed next to Sherlock, pulling at the waistband of Sherlock’s pajamas. John helps from the other side, and Sherlock lifts his hips, even with never having done this before they are flawless in their motions. Greg smiles against Sherlock’s shoulder, seeing all three of them naked for the first time. Greg allows himself to bask in Sherlock’s newness, mirroring John’s kisses and the patterns he is tracing over Sherlock’s skin, until Sherlock’s hips are twitching and he’s breathing out, “Bitte, bitte, please.” And John kisses him quiet and wraps his hand around his cock.

Greg’s fingers circle Sherlock’s nipple, withholding actual pressure until Sherlock rises up against his fingers, “Greedy.” He withdraws his hand, runs his fingers over John’s fist and between Sherlock’s legs. Pulling them apart and hooking Sherlock’s knee over his waist. The snap of the lube opening is loud over their ragged breathing. John is still kissing Sherlock, but he breaks away, “ _God, yes_.”

********   


Greg smiles as John changes the pace of his strokes, slower, smoother glides of his hand with a pause at the head that makes Sherlock’s hips stutter up for more contact. Greg coats his fingers and pulls Sherlock’s knee higher up on his waist. He wants to just push his fingers in, force Sherlock open and take everything he needs. He inhales, trails his fingers over Sherlock’s cock, leaving just the faintest trace of wetness to smooth John’s next stroke. Then he has to adjust, slipping his arm under Sherlock’s leg, giving him a better angle and opening him even further. Sherlock groans as Greg’s finger skims over his arse, he tenses and pulls away from the touch, he relaxes almost immediately, falling back against Greg’s arm. Greg laughs against Sherlock’s neck just below his ear, “See, _that_ is why you don’t put lube in the fridge.”

********   


Whatever Sherlock wants to say to that is lost in John’s mouth. Greg’s finger circles, teasing and light at first, then building pressure until he is sinking in and thrusting. His second knuckle is sliding in slowly when Sherlock’s moan registers in Greg’s mind. John has moved on from Sherlock’s mouth, Greg can just see his teeth and tongue as they make there way down the long line of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock throws his head back, nearly cracking Greg in the nose, “Easy, sunshine, easy.” He makes a lie of the words by pulling his finger back and thrusting it in fully. Sherlock’s moan turns sharp as John’s teeth find his nipple, and he arches back into Greg.

********   


“Oh, you are sensitive aren’t you, if it is too much, you have to tell us.”

********   


John’s tongue soothes over the delicate skin, flicking gently to pull another moan from Sherlock. There is a lot for Greg to process, and it is tempting to just watch John as he tastes his way across Sherlock’s body. The motion of his hand is almost automatic, and he feels bereft, the angle that he has to hold himself at prevents his other hand from wandering. Instead he settles his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder, giving himself a better angle to press his lips against Sherlock’s jaw, and to watch as John works his mouth closer to Sherlock’s cock.

********   


John’s fingers have stilled on his cock, so Greg slows to a barely perceptible shifting as he waits to see what John will do. Sherlock is still beside him and Greg realizes that he is holding his breath, “Sherlock, breathe. Oxygen is important to the process, I’d rather you didn’t black out.” Greg waits until he hears the hiss of Sherlock drawing in air, “Do you want him to suck you? I want to hear you ask him.”

********   


John licked his lips and looked up at Sherlock, Sherlock nuzzles against Greg’s temple as though he is trying to hide or get Greg to do it for him. Greg smiles, pulls his finger out, pauses, only touching for a moment and then presses forward with two fingers. Sherlock throws his head back into the pillow, his long neck exposed. John tilts forwards and flicks the tip of his tongue over the notch at the base of Sherlock’s throat, “Do you want us to stop, Sherlock? Please tell me you don’t want him to stop, we should, I know we should. Fuck, we are all completely off our heads. Please, Sherlock tell me you want me.” John’s voice is sad, almost resigned, he expects Sherlock to jump up and tell them it has been a horrible mistake, a manipulation, he is a sociopath after all and they mean nothing to him.

********   


Suddenly there is tightness in Greg’s chest, the expression on Sherlock’s face morphs through every variant of disdain and gets as close as Greg has seen him to anger, “ _John_ , please. I... I can’t, I don’t know how to... I need it. Please _Greg_...”

********   


Greg shifts until his mouth is pressed against Sherlock’s earlobe, his fingers curling in response to the new angle, “Do you want to stop?” His breath eases out as Sherlock shakes his head against his lips. “Do you want John’s mouth?” The nod is tight and controlled but accompanied by a moan, “ _please_...” Greg thinks it is a sin and a waste that he has never heard Sherlock wanting something before. Of course Sherlock makes demands all the time, even when he was high and begging Greg for more drugs, ‘Just one more, please, I just need one more...’ And he sees now that Sherlock didn’t actually want the drugs then, he just wanted to see if he could make Greg get it for him. Greg sighs against Sherlock’s skin, dragging himself back to the present with a just shy of gentle scissoring of his fingers inside Sherlock’s arse.

********   


Sherlock arches, pressing himself up against John, who is frozen, watching them. Greg catches Sherlock’s earlobe in his teeth, worrying gently before continuing, “If you want John, you can take him.” Greg’s eyes never leave John’s as he speaks, because maybe this will be too much for John. “He pinches if he can’t speak, if he can’t... John. Tell Sherlock your safe word.”

********   


John licks his lips, clears his throat with something approaching a giggle. “Toothpaste.”

********   


Sherlock almost laughs, but Greg scissors his fingers again sharply. “What is John’s safeword, Sherlock?”

********   


Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat, “ _Toothpaste_.”

********   


“Good, and yours?”

********   


“Norbury.”

********   


“If you want him, put your hand on the back of his head, just above his hairline.”

********   


Sherlock’s hand rises from where it had been dormant at his side, approaches John cautiously, as though he is afraid John will vanish, or bite. John is still, watching the movement of Greg’s lips against Sherlock’s ear. He doesn’t startle when Sherlock’s hand moves to brush over his cheekbone, down along the line of his jaw. John shivers as Sherlock’s fingers slide under the shell of his ear, and for all that it is tender, it is almost utilitarian. Sherlock’s fingers hesitate as they pass the barrier of John’s hairline, Greg can almost feel the texture of John’s hair through Sherlock’s fingers. He bites his lip and fails to completely suppress a moan, imagining tangling his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. John inhales sharply as Sherlock’s fingers tighten against the back of his neck. Greg shifts gently inside Sherlock, establishing a slow smooth pace. “Just... it doesn’t take much pressure, he wants to... just give him a little push.”

********   


John is obviously torn between pulling away from and melting into the grip on his neck. Sherlock, is either lucky or clever and whispers, “ _John, don’t go_.” And John turns his head into the wrist that is holding him, plants a small kiss on the arm. The muscles in Sherlock’s arm tense, just enough to bring John up and into a kiss. Greg is so close he can feel the traces of John’s breath as it passes over Sherlock’s skin, and it is almost enough to see them this close, to be responsible for the connection. Then they are all three craning their necks, and Sherlock is going to stretch something, and possibly wring his own neck. Their faces are all pressed together, too many noses and just too awkward to maintain, but it was a three way kiss, if only for an instant.

********   


“John please, he is going to... I need you to...”

********   


“I want to... Please John can I?”

********   


“God... yes.”

********   


Sherlock’s fingers catch in John’s hair, and he pulls. Greg watches as John slides down, arranging himself lower on the bed. Greg pulls Sherlock’s leg up, tilting him until Sherlock is on his side with his leg is wrapped around John’s chest. It is anything but elegant, but they are not auditioning for the fucking ballet then are they? Greg slides closer, pressing himself against Sherlock’s back and slotting his cock between his legs under his fingers. The temptation to rut against Sherlock’s thigh and arse is overwhelming, he has to inhale and exhale twice while curling his fingers against Sherlock’s prostate before he feels calm enough to go on.

********   


Sherlock has reverted to French again, and his hips are making small tiny movements against Greg’s fingers. Sherlock’s fingers are still tangled in John’s hair, but he hasn’t moved. Greg can only see the top of John’s head and Sherlock’s hand from his vantage point, and he groans as he realizes that Sherlock is waiting for Greg to tell him what to do.

********   


“Do you want him to suck you?”

********   


“Yes. I... John, please...”

********   


Greg’s fingers and hips move together, not enough for Sherlock connect with John but enough that Sherlock gasps and Greg can see his fingers contract against John’s scalp. “He’ll let you know if he wants you to stop. If you want him to touch you, make him touch you.”

********   


He doesn’t want Sherlock to come yet, so he stills his fingers as Sherlock’s arm tenses again. The imperfect angle of their bodies prevents Greg from seeing most of what is happening. He can feel it in the shift of Sherlock’s hips, the shift of his arm against his body and the grateful moan that rumbles against Greg’s chest where they are pressed together.

********   


Greg drops his head between Sherlock’s shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut. _Jesus, patience being a virtue is utter bollocks._ He waits, somehow, until Sherlock’s arm is moving in a rhythm that he can match with his fingers. The noise that rises from Sherlock almost stops him, until it resolves into a long low growl of his name. “ ** _Greg_**.”

********   


Greg’s whole body shudders, and he presses in with his third finger. So close, but this isn’t about him, as much as he wants it. He needs to move, needs to pull away and put the condom on, needs to make Sherlock make that sound again. His fingers curl, pressing against Sherlock’s prostate, just once before he resumes matching the pace Sherlock is setting with John’s mouth.

********   


When John moans around Sherlock’s cock and Greg can feel it in his fingers he decides that he is done being patient. He removes his fingers as quickly as he can without causing Sherlock any harm. Gains a hiss from Sherlock for his trouble regardless. He has to shift away, break contact against his body’s wishes. His focus becomes diamond sharp, condom, lube. Why are the bloody condom packets so entirely impossible to open? He manages all of the necessary preparations, re-lubes his fingers and presses all three fully into Sherlock again, curling the tip of his index finger as he finds Sherlock’s prostate. He adjusts until he is looking down over Sherlock’s shoulder, is almost lost in watching John’s mouth on Sherlock’s cock, the long slim fingers in John’s hair.

********   


He twists his own fingers and presses deeper. Sherlock catches his breath and holds it as Greg drags his lips over Sherlock’s jaw. “You are ready for me now.” It should be a question, but Sherlock doesn’t answer except to exhale forcefully through his nose and press John closer to his groin.

********   


Greg removes his fingers, slower this time, letting himself savour the anticipation now, “I like John’s plan, that list of yours, we should add John’s plan to the list. I want, so much, everything. But I’d like you over my knee begging John to fuck you, we will definitely have to do that.” He presses himself against Sherlock, guiding the head of his cock into Sherlock. This is his favourite part about new lovers, and he knows that it shouldn’t be, but it was the same with the women in his past, that first moment of being inside another person.

********   


With Sherlock it is slow and agonizing. Greg’s fingers are digging into Sherlock’s hip, pulling him in as his hips press forward. He can feel that John isn’t moving, just teasing at the tip of Sherlock’s cock, helping to hold Sherlock in place as Greg sinks further in.

********   


It is over too soon, and he has to take a deep breath against the desire to pull Sherlock over onto his knees and fuck him senseless. He has time, there is time for everything. As it is he settles his other arm under Sherlock’s neck, pulling him close and sliding slightly deeper into him. He wants to tell Sherlock how wonderful he feels, wants to make sure that Sherlock is alright, but he feels as though his speech centres have been fried and served up on toast.

********   


It is completely unfair, therefore, that Sherlock should be able to speak, “Lestrade, I can’t... god, I want... I want, not gentle... please.”

********   


Greg’s grip on Sherlock’s hip tightens until the skin around his fingers stands out white, and John moans again as Greg’s hips snap forward and fucks Sherlock into John’s mouth. “I can’t... I won’t be able to stop, I’m so close.”

********   


The pace he sets is quick and sharp, every time John groans Greg thinks he is done for. But it is Sherlock who breaks first, pleading whispers cresting in a wordless shout. The vibrations from John’s moan and the erratic motions and spasms of Sherlock’s orgasm force Greg to increase his pace until every one of his nerve ends fires at once and he thinks that he might have shouted Sherlock’s name.

********   


When he comes to, and it does feel like he has been unconscious, John is kissing Sherlock and rutting into his fist. And no that will not do at all, Greg launches himself over Sherlock and batts John’s hand away, “I could feel you, god I love the noise you make with a cock in your mouth.” He spreads John’s knees and settles between them, swallowing John down without any further preamble.

********   


“Fuck, Greg!” John’s hips buck up and force his cock deeper into Greg’s mouth. Greg hums his appreciation and hooks his arms under John’s arse, lifting him and encouraging him to fuck his mouth as he sees fit. When he risks a glance upwards John’s hands are woven into the slats of the headboard, the muscles of his arms standing out in relief under his skin. Sherlock has resumed kissing John, his fingers are just ghosting over John’s right nipple, only touching when John thrusts up into Greg’s mouth.

********   


John’s left arm drops from the headboard and moves to the back of Sherlock’s head, pulling him in closer. Sherlock’s moan makes John’s hips stutter, and Greg runs his tongue over the slit as John pulls away. Greg can hear John’s heart pounding in the quiet of the room and he can’t stop the moan that comes from him as John rises into his mouth again. Sherlock pinches John’s nipple lightly and the grunts Greg hadn’t even realized John was making solidify into a long groan that floods Greg’s mouth. John’s head almost collides with Sherlock’s before Sherlock can pull away. His head and shoulders come up from the bed, and the only thing holding him is his hand on the headboard and Greg’s mouth on his cock. Greg swallows, letting John ride out his orgasm into his mouth, coming off when John goes boneless under him. He lowers John’s leg and slides off the end of the bed, running his hand over his cock to remove the condom. He can’t take his eyes off the two men in his bed, they are exhausted and sated, and Greg’s cock twitches a bit knowing that he made them that way.

********   


“Do you want anything?” He should get water, a flannel, the crown jewels, whatever they need.

********   


“Come back.” John’s voice is rough, blurring with the edges of sleep.

****  
** **

Greg slides back into the bed beside John, and John curls up. Winding his legs and arms around Sherlock, pulling him close and tucking his face under Sherlock’s jaw. Greg presses himself against John’s back, slots his legs into place behind John’s and lets his arm drape over both John and Sherlock. They are all sweaty and too warm, and none of them want to move to pull the duvet up over them.

****  
** **

It is the middle of a Sunday afternoon and Greg has absolutely no desire to ever leave the bed again. His eyes drift closed as he feels Sherlock’s breathing even out and John settle deeper between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of your support. I am hoping that I will be over the blockage and back to at least weekly posting from here until the foreseeable future.


End file.
